


My cup of liquid, it overflows

by MatildaSwan



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, Community: sanctuary_bingo, Gen, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 04:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/pseuds/MatildaSwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it rest on the tip of my tongue</p>
            </blockquote>





	My cup of liquid, it overflows

**Author's Note:**

> Sanctuary_bingo: prompt; third person and a_writing_muse: prompt; cigar. 
> 
> Lyrics from The Civil Wars.

**_There's a pub on the south side of town_ **

**_  
_**

Nigel liked an honest lager: something simple to quench the thirst; satisfy the soul after a hard day of dishonesty.

There was nothing fancy about beer; it was sturdy sustenance and a staple of most men’s diet. It was a solid bet; not that Nigel was a gambling man. He preferred it when he could move the odds into his favour. It was the atmosphere that came with a pint; having a few of the pub with the stink of alcohol and sweat surrounding you. It was comforting, in a stale way.

It mightn't be clear, but it was honest.

**_Smoke rings and cigarettes_ **

**_  
_**

It was the strength of scotch that James enjoyed. Not just its intensity, but its character: it had a flavour that demanded respect, without overpowering the sense. Each sip was an array of sensations; subtle and delicate on the nose, forceful to the tongue, and satiating at the climax.

Though James felt a glass of scotch would be lost without a cigar. A swig and a drag; sharp and tart: a smile as the cigar swirled inside your mouth as the scotch burnt a trail down your throat. James though the waft of liquor and smoke about him was marvellous.

 

**_Soak up the colour of the midday sun_ **

**_  
_**

It was the ritual that John appreciated, as much as the actual taste. Preparing the alcohol was as thrilling as consuming it, as far as he was concerned.

It was almost magical; decanting from the bottle, seeing the amber liquid curling and curving around itself inside the glass. Watching the air quiver and shiver, as the aroma wafted and grew. The sharpness of an accidental sniff as you went for a sip. The burn at the back of the sinus; a barely swallowed cough masked with a smile.

It was rough, potent, and powerful. John found it so very satisfying.

 

**_Time stands still while there's still wine around_ **

**_  
_**

Nikola had always loved wine. White was all well and good, but well before he’d uncovered his taste for another red, he’d developed a respect for _vin rouge_.

It wasn’t just the flavour or the bouquet, though those were large parts of Nikola’s adoration. It was the way different distillations managed to glint and shimmer in ways no other bottle did; as if light danced inside glass. Each vat was unique; infinite variations of unparalleled perfection.

Wine captivated him; enticed, integiued, and begged consumption. Red could be sophisticated and cultivated, or catastrophic and messy, and its presence simply demanded attention.

**_We’re just pressing flowers_ **

**_  
_**

Helen adored tea; always had and always would. It was no secret she found solace in a well steeped brew, regardless of the time or place.

The first sip of tea on a cold morning defrosted her from the inside out; on a warm day, it lifted her eyelids and spirits. A fresh cup mid-afternoon invigorated her; supplied the gentle nudge she needed to get through to the evening. A pot late at night calmed her, let her body relax and her mind pause.

Whether boiling and strong, or warm and soft, Helen always welcomed a good cup of tea.

 


End file.
